


Non-stop

by hermitized



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitized/pseuds/hermitized
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander works himself into the ground, and Aaron brings him back up again. Set during the time period of "Non-stop".   If you feel like there's gay subtext, that's because there totally is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non-stop

Through the walls, he can hear him coughing.

At first it’s annoying, a constant irritation, a perpetual wet reminder of his presence. Not that you need reminders, when you work next door to each other. The only thing worse would be sharing the same office, and with the coughing they may as well be doing that.

It’s impossible to get into any kind of focus in writing when you were being distracted every fifteen seconds to a minute.

Then, it becomes slightly worrying. He knows Alexander is sick. Besides the coughing, and the sniffling, he can see his hand shaking as he takes notes in court, him sticking close to their table rather than pacing. He’s tired.

Aaron goes over to visit him in the afternoon. Alexander is sitting at his desk, buried in stacks of books, hunched over a paper. He mouths words to himself.

“Alexander?”

He looks up at him. “Burr,” he says. He seems frustrated. “Perhaps you’ve reconsidered my offer, to write a few essays?”

“Not today.” He looks him over, trying not to be too obvious about it. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, better. Much better.”

Liar.

“Have you eaten?” he presses. “Or gotten out of this room?”

Alexander doesn’t have to answer. Aaron can see it on his face. “I’m in the middle of a passage.”

“Finish it, then come for a walk with me.”

He blinks at him, surprised, then smiles. “Yes, sir.”

Aaron endures his coughing and snuffling for another hour, and then they put on their coats and head out onto the road. It’s June, a beautiful New York spring shining down on them. Alexander tucks his hand into his coat pockets. “I think we could write a hundred of them.”

That’s typical Alexander. He looks so proud, in that flash of a second, and then he looks tired again. “You’ve written more than half of them.” That’s not public information, really, but Aaron knows it.

Alexander smiles again, coughs into his sleeve again. “Speaking of which, I should get back to it.”

He wants to grab his shoulders. Instead, he places a hand against his upper arm. “Alexander, go home. You need to rest.”

“Rest.” Alexander breathes the word out, a sigh. “I’m nearly done, with this latest. I’ll rest when I’m done.”

Alexander will rest when he’s done, and he’ll never be done, not until he’s dead and in the dirt.

“Do what you will.” He pats his shoulder, drops his hand. “It’ll be hard to write when you’re sick, of course.”

“Of course. I’m getting better.”

“Of course.”

They walk back to their offices, Alexander disappearing inside his, carefully closing the door. Aaron follows suit, falling back into his chair, looking over his papers. He can hear the scratch of Alexander’s pen, hear him cough.

He learns to let it become background noise, as he reads. He learns not to let it disturb his train of thought, not every time. He lets himself forget how late it can get, when you let yourself fall into another person’s words.

First, the pen scratching stops. Then, the coughing stops.

Aaron waits, tapping his fingers on the spine of the book, for a sound, any sound. Then, he stands up and heads next door. He is not quiet in pushing open the door, or running to his desk.

Alexander has his head on his arms, folded over a stack of paper, sleeping like the dead. His breath is slow and even, but comes out with wheezes.

It’s time to go home.

“Alexander,” he says, coming up to desk. When that gets no response he snaps, in a military officer’s voice, “Hamilton!”

Alexander sits up, eyes wide, shakes his head. “Sir!” He coughs.

“It’s time to go home, Alexander.”

He lets Aaron slide an arm around his waist, pull his arm over his shoulders, It’s very late. They hobble onto the street again, towards the Hamilton home.

Alexander is very warm.

It’s too dark and late to be walking like this, and Alexander is too tired, but there’s nothing to be done for it. Aaron has a horse, of course, but he can’t ride and hold Alexander, and it’s too late to find a coach. Alexander’s home isn’t too far at least. One good thing, about a city like New York, is that so many things are so close together.

“I was nearly finished,” Alexander says. He sounds miserable.

“Finish it in a few days. Your pen and paper will still be there.”

“I don’t know. Maybe they won’t.”

Now, that’s a lot to think about, isn’t it? Alexander has had so many things in his life pulled away from him, at such a young age. Why should he feel confident that anything’s going to stay?

The longer they walk, the more and more Alexander leans on him. It’s a relief, when they come to his door. He raps the knocker, hard as he can with his off-hand.

Eliza comes to the door. She’s thrown on a coat. “Mr. Burr.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, ma’am.” He gestures to Alexander. “I’ve come to return something of yours.”

“So you have.” She lifts her skirt as she comes down the stairs. She places a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “I told you to rest, Alexander.”

“I know, Eliza. I know.”

She looks up at Aaron. “Bring him inside, please.” She sweeps back into the house herself, lighting lights as she goes.

He brings Alexander inside, then Eliza takes over,helps him walk shakily to their room. Aaron stands in the entrance hallway, looking around, taking his first deep breath in what feels like a long time.

A door closes, and he looks up to see Eliza again. “Would you like some tea? Or water?”

“No thank you, ma’am.”

She crosses the room to him. “It’s very late. Spend the night, at least until there’s a little bit of sun.”

He looks at her. She looks at him, head tilted. It’s no wonder Alexander loves her. “Where would I sleep?”

“He has a couch in his study.”

That’s too much, even for a night like tonight. He rests on the floor, eyes closed, occasionally drifting, but not really sleeping. Thinking, in big circles, coming in and out of thoughts like waves on the ocean.

He must sleep a little, because when Eliza’s footsteps wake him, the sun is up. He straightens out his waistcoat, looking up at her. “How is he?”

“He’ll be healthy soon enough. He just needs to rest."

Rest. The one thing Alexander Hamilton has alway struggled to do. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

“He was asking to see you.”

That stops him halfway through picking up his coat. “Was he, now?”

He follows her into their bedroom, cautious, unexplainably nervous. Alexander is propped up on pillows, papers clutched in his lap, eyes on the wall across from him. He turns when he hears their footsteps. “Aaron.” He coughs, clears his throat. “I wanted to...that is, Eliza says...I mean...I’d like to thank you for helping me get home last night.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do though.” He bows his head. “Thank you.”

“Alexander.” He glances at Eliza, sits in the chair beside the bed. “You need to take better care of yourself, my friend. When the body suffers, the mind suffers, yes?”

“I know.” Alexander closes his eyes. “It’s just hard, to pull myself away.”

“I know.”

Aaron reaches out, not sure exactly what he’s reaching for. He puts a hand on Alexander’s wrist, feels his blood flutter against his fingertips. “I’ll keep our appointments. Your job is to rest. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Alexander looks down, shakes his head, smiles. 

“Good. Now, I really must be going. There is much to do, in the office and at home.” He pulls back his hand and stands. To Eliza, he says, “Thank you for your hospitality. I shall find a way to repay you.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” she says. She nods to him. “Really, I’m the one who should be trying to repay you”

He puts on his coat, and his hat, and steps out into the street. It looks so different in the day, brighter, shorter. When he’d carried Alexander here it had felt so long, but now it doesn’t look so frightening.

Pulling his notebook out of his pocket, he heads to the office. He’ll need to look at which of Alexander’s meetings he can take, and which he’ll have to cancel.

Leave it to Hamilton, to work himself sick when there’s so much that needs to be done.


End file.
